


From Ashes

by Sidonis



Category: Constantine (2005), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pre-Slash, References to Illness, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonis/pseuds/Sidonis
Summary: After a night out drinking, Constantine wakes up to his apartment on fire. As he watches the fire department trying to save what’s left of the house, Balthazar pays him a visit. Is the demon only there to delight in his loss, or is there more to it?Ficlet for the Hurt/Comfort collection, based on WoeyLeaf’s prompt.
Relationships: Balthazar/John Constantine
Kudos: 14
Collections: Angst and Hurt/Comfort Prompts





	From Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [WoeyLeaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoeyLeaf/pseuds/WoeyLeaf) in the [angstandhcprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/angstandhcprompts) collection. 



> I love Constantine/Balthazar even though the 2005 movie is not really in fashion anymore. Those two have this bitter-ex-energy, and they always seem to hover between “Fuck you” and “I want to fuck you”. It’s great.

John Constantine woke to loud sirens and flashing streaks of light breaking through the shutters. He sat up. His head throbbed, and he felt dizzy. What a night. He barely remembered stumbling into his small apartment and falling into bed fully clothed. It took him precious seconds to realize that his headache wasn’t entirely due to last night’s bender. The smoke all around him was a dead giveaway.

He coughed vigorously and rolled out of bed. A pile of folders on his desk was on fire, and the flames licked up the yellowed wallpaper of the quaint room. Trying to hold his breath, he crawled towards the door. Before he reached it, it flew open, and a geared-up fireman charged into his studio. The man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the fire and billowing smoke out into the narrow hallway and down the stairs.

He was handed off to a paramedic who pulled him to one of the ambulances parked outside the building. Constantine’s mind was so foggy he could barely keep up with what was happening to him. Faces of onlookers blurred into each other, and sirens and car horns blared in unison, but all the occultist could think of were all the artifacts and important documents that would be nothing more than small piles of ash. John watched the firefighters blasting the house with water. At least it seemed like they got everyone out. He sighed as the paramedic performed a quick checkup.

He patted his shirt and was relieved to find a pack of cigarettes. The paramedic protested but eventually had better things to do than to tell a possibly traumatized citizen to not smoke while watching his life being devoured by flames. Through the mayhem, he suddenly heard a slow clap just an arm’s length away.

“Well done, Johnny-boy,” Balthazar mocked, “That cigarette you put out on that newspaper?” he leaned in, “You didn’t actually put it out.” 

Constantine took a long drag and slowly blew the smoke out his nostrils. He tried to remember but drew a blank. He had previously burnt small holes in the table, the floor, and his mattress. Still, never had anything resulted in an actual fire.

“Fuck off,” he demanded half-heartedly. He had no energy left to worry about the half-breed.

He inhaled the smoke deeply. It caused him to cough so violently that he dropped the cigarette and had to press his hand to his mouth to stifle it. His shoulders shook as he finally managed to take a rattling breath.

“The fire didn’t get you,” Balthazar remarked, and reached for John’s hand, moving it away from his lips, “But looks like smoking will… sooner rather than later.”

Constantine pulled his hand free and angrily wiped the bloody residue on his dark pants, “Go to hell, where you belong…”

“Weak line, John,” the demon noted, but there was none of the usual venom resonating in his voice.

“Yeah, my heart really wasn’t in it,” Constantine muttered.

Wordlessly, Balthazar placed his hand on Constantine’s back. He lightly stroked the hunched over man’s back until his labored breathing started to calm down. Realizing that not only his breathing had become easier, but also that the wrenching pain in his chest had all but evaporated, John looked up with a frown, “What did you do?”

The half-breed moved his hand to the exorcist’s shoulder, “How about ‘ _thank you’_? I just saved you some money on painkillers.”

“I didn’t ask for any of that!” Constantine complained, but Balthazar just squeezed his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to.”

He let his hand slide down John’s chest and just grinned as the man slapped it away indignantly.

“Get some rest,” the demon advised. Then, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Bastard,” John hissed and groped for his cigarettes. Instead of the crinkled package, he found a small bundle of folded bills, held together with a sleek money pin. Tucked in with the bills was a little note.

‘I recommend the Wyatt Hotel as an interim solution. It’s now in your budget.’


End file.
